Warm Heart and a Beautiful Brain (but It's Disintegrating)
by WintersPheonix
Summary: Despite trying as hard as she did to forget and ignore how lost and broken her mind and soul was becoming, she couldn't. Some part of her mind wouldn't let her forget that something inside of her was missing and would never come back. And she wasn't dealing with it. At all. Everyone thought that she was okay and that she was dealing with it fine, but she wasn't. Enter Bucky!
1. Smile Again (and the Devil May Cry)

She wakes with silent screams dancing across her lips, and tears streaking down her cheeks. Taking a deep breath, she reaches up and rubs both hands against her face to wipe away the rivers of salty tears. Then she folds back her covers, and lets her legs dangle off the side of her bed. Without even having to think about it, she concedes that she won't be getting any more sleep in her own bed tonight. With a defeated sigh of frustration, she stands. Then she trudges over to her closet, and digs around for her giant, warm sweatshirt that she stole from Thor a long time ago. She shrugs on the oversized clothing item, which nearly hangs down to her knees and dwarfs her frame, before grabbing her phone, and leaving her room.

She wanders the halls of the Tower, no destination in mind other than somewhere away from her bedroom and the nightmares that haunt it. Even with the other Tower inmates' odd waking hours, it's normally pretty quiet at this time of night, and she doesn't expect to run into anybody. After walking for a little while, she finds that her feet have taken her up to the kitchen and common room a floor above her. She pads over to the floor-to-ceiling windows that line one wall, and looks down at the City That Never Sleeps, staring blankly at the lights of the streets below. The old Darcy would've made some snarky comment, even if only in her head, about the tiny little people being so far below her and how yes, she is boss, no matter what Agent Hottie McHotarms says. Now, though, Darcy Lewis is silent, even in her own mind.

It's been nearly two years since Alien Invasion Number...Suck It with the creepy as hell space-elf-dudes-of-disappointing-lack-of-hotness (seriously, she was promised Legolas level hotness after meeting Thor), but the aftermath still lingers on. She supposes it's like a tsunami. When it comes, it's quick and abrupt, destroying everything in its path with no regard whatsoever of where it's going. Yet, when it ends, and the tide has pulled away, all that's left is pain that remains long after the tsunami has ended. All you can do is pick up the pieces that it's left behind, and hope that they go back together again in some way, no matter how broken.

Even now, after all this time has passed, she can still very vividly remember the feeling of her heart thumping wildly in her chest as she runs from the huge metal robot during her first alien invasion. She remembers praying to any deity that would listen to spare her life and the life of everyone in the little town she had come to begrudgingly like, even as she continued to rescue all the animals from the local pet shop that had caught on fire. If she thinks on it long enough, she can practically see the flames engulfing the building. She can hear the screams from those around her as they run away. She can feel the exhaustion and adrenaline coursing through her veins as she pushes herself to run faster. It's not long before she's lost in her thoughts, and lost to the present.

Soon, her thoughts stray to the Convergence in London, to the last time she spoke. Instead of focusing on the actual experience, though, her mind wanders to the aftermath. She should be grateful that she's even alive, given the fact that others aren't. She knows just how close she was to death, and nothing will let her forget it. It's not her dear Jane's fault, but a small part of her can't help but blame the absent-minded astrophysicist at least the slightest bit.

It had been an accident, and Darcy knows this. Jane had flipped the wrong switch, and hadn't meant to use the sciencey stick on her. Nothing in the thoroughly checked and rechecked research had there been any indication that the current situation would be even remotely possible. Later, when the bad guys had been defeated, and things were finally calming down, her friend had apologized profusely and repeatedly for the mistake. Unlike most things, though, the problem couldn't be fixed with just a simple apology, no matter how many of them are given. The damage has been done and Darcy will have to live with it for the rest of her life. Now, Darcy is a mute who will never again be able to speak.

So invested is she in her thoughts, she barely notices when she has company. When she looks to her side, she finds someone she hadn't at all expected. It's James. The former Winter Soldier stands silently next to her in casual clothing, gazing out and over the world beyond the window. His hair hangs like a curtain between them, and his posture is hunched slightly, as though unconsciously trying to appear smaller. She's staring, but she can't help it. Even though he's been at the Tower for months now, she's never actually met him before. Sure, she's seen him in passing, but they'd never actually gotten this close before. She's amazed that he's decided to voluntarily attempt to interact with her. Finally, after a few moments, she's able to peel her eyes from his form, and turns back to watch the city. They stand there silently for a while longer before he surprises her by speaking.

"You used to be able to see the stars clearer. Sure, it wasn't crystal clear or anythin', but we didn't have all these tall skyscrapers lightin' up the night all the time," he says in a scratchy tone barely louder than a whisper. His voice is soft, but has a rough edge to it. His words are so unexpected and out of nowhere, but the sound of them has a weak smile pulling at Darcy's lips. She arches an eyebrow in response, indicating that she wants him to continue.

"Stevie and I didn't have a whole lot of money for fun stuff while we were growin' up so on the nights that his health would allow, we'd go up to the roof of our buildin' with a couple blankets and lay and just look at the stars. It was free, and it wasn't hard on his body. Plus, the sky was pretty to look at," he tells her. She nods in agreement and understanding.

After his admission, they go back to silence. It' s a comfortable silence now, though. While the time before he had spoken had been a tense, broken silence that drove a chasm between them, this absence of sound is more accepting. It's no longer a void that needs to be filled with awkward small talk. His voluntary personal fact had been like a bridge of sorts, linking them together by a delicate new bond of sharing a fondness for just admiring the stars for their beauty without having to analyze ten ways from Tuesday. It's a companionable peace that rests between them, like a softly flowing river.

Time passes. Neither of them really notice or care. Soon, she begins to feel drowsiness settle in, and Darcy decides she should at least try to rest, even though she knows that sleep won't welcome her back into its arms. She turns her head, and gives the man standing next to her a small smile. She mouths _thank you, Barnes_ to him before starting to move away.

"It's James, doll," his voice floats over to her over his shoulders. A grin spreads across her face. He wants her to think of him as a friend. Only people he trusts and likes does he allow to call him "James." She moves over to the couch, and lays down. A small, soft smile tugs the corners of her lips upwards at the thought of the new friendship that James has offered, and how beautiful it will be.


	2. Sacred Munchies

Despite his offering of an olive branch, so to speak, Darcy doesn't see James for nearly three weeks due to both of them working in very different parts of the Tower. Plus, she knows that he has a strong wariness of any lab, which is one of the places that she frequents the most, but she knows that she can't blame him for staying away from visiting her at her place of work. She's never actually read his file, but she totally took advantage of the files Natasha had dropped online when S.H.I.E.L.D. had fallen. She knows that Hydra really fucked him over. She understands and completely respects his decision to stay far, far away from any of the labs, even though it means she hasn't seen him since that night out in the commons.

If she's being honest with herself, she'll admit that that night had been a fluke. In fact, if that night had never happened, she highly doubts that they would've ever met outside of that first, awkward introduction that Steve had given when James had first been brought in from the cold. It's almost like high school all over again. They orbit in completely different social groups—him with the jocks (Clint, Steve, Sam, Natasha, and occasionally Thor), and her with the nerds/Scientists Three (Tony, Bruce, and Jane). Thus, no one at all can really blame Darcy for being surprised when she's in the common room one day and feels the couch cushions to her right dip low. At first, she suspects it's Thor, or maybe even Steve, with how steep the cushions slope under the newcomer's weight. Then, a shiny metal hand is reaching into the bowl of munchies on her lap to steal away some of her food, and she knows exactly who it is.

Her head whirls to the side to stare at the long-haired brunette sitting next to her, cautiously pulling his handful of stolen goods from the bowl and stuffing all of the food into his mouth. The shock that had taken over her quickly diminishes into a scandalized emotion at the sight of this. How dare he? Who does he think he is, plopping his undeniably hot person right down next to her, and then stealing her snacks? Everyone in the Tower _knows_ that Darcy's snacks and munchies are not only sacred, but must be earned. Not just anyone gets the religious experience of sharing Darcy's Sacred Munchies of Lewis.

Even though his eyes seem to be glued to the movie, she knows he can see her righteous expression of incredulity because of the cocky little smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. The tiny, long-thought dead part of Darcy that still holds a slivered sense of self-preservation and survival rears its head and chastises her for being annoyed at a very lethal assassin who could probably easily kill her before she could blink if so chose. Of course, Darcy being, well, Darcy, simply ignores the little voice of reason. He took her snack without permission. She raises an eyebrow and crosses her arms over her well-endowed chest, a death glare aimed at his pretty little face. He just keeps his gazed locked on the screen ahead and reaches for more food. She watches as he consumes two more large handfuls of her food before throwing her hands to the sky and resigns herself to letting the assassin welcome himself to the bowl on her lap with only minimal glaring from her. She peels her eyes from his smirking, smug face to return to being sucked into the addictive adventures of the world of Middle Earth and eye candy.

He stays and watches the rest of the Fellowship with her, which is more than half of the film. When the nibbles run out, he even gets up to replenish their movie watching provisions without her needing to prompt him. How he knows where her stash of stuff is, though, she has no idea. She had thought only she and Natasha knew of the place. Even Clint doesn't know the location of her hiding place. Once the credits have begun to roll, he simply gets up and thanks her softly. What he's thanking her for, though, she has no idea. Then he's disappeared again. She chooses to not question his abrupt departure. Instead, she shrugs and begins to clean up the remains of her stuff.

Stark has someone to clean the room, so she doesn't bother to pick up all the tedious, little crumbs, only the somewhat larger pieces of food. After those have been gathered, she straightens the cushions and pillows a bit. As a last final touch, she turns off the TV, and places the remote back in its place. Satisfied with her mini cleaning job, she picks up her bowl and makes her way to the kitchen.

It's not commonly known, but when she can control it, Darcy likes organization. She's certainly not a neat freak, but she likes order, which probably explains her talent at babysitting—ahem, managing—her Scientists Three. She just likes everything to be somewhat clean looking. She makes sure her bed is at least mostly made. She either cleans her dishes once she's used them, or she puts them in the dishwasher. Even if there's a little clutter of things in one place, she puts them in a specific formation. She doesn't mind when things are out, just so long as they have some façade of order. Otherwise, if too many things are out of place, she'll get overwhelmed. It's sort of a new little characteristic that she's picked up after living through two alien invasions. Keeping things in their place helps her cope in a way, takes her mind off memories she'd rather not think about. True, Jane's lab and Tony's workshop, which are two of the places she spends the most time visiting, are practically lost causes with their miscellaneous parts strewn about in practically no pattern, but she maintains a level of control even there when she keeps them watered, fed, and clean at regular intervals. Bruce is easy. He's just like her and likes order, but is still needs her care when it comes to the simple human wumany stuff. So, she focuses on the little things that she can actually keep tidy, and not the entire lab.

When she enters the kitchen, she finds Clint sitting his ass right on the counter. He's just finishing an apple, happily chomping on the crunchy fruit. She tries to ignore his presence in favor of avoiding giving him the opportunity to make some witty remark about how he's so much better at archery than that "pretty boy elf," but his loud eating is kinda seriously hard to ignore. She makes her way over to the sink, marching right past him. He's just about to take the last bite when he catches sight of the remains of what was once in the container in her arms, and his eyes practically bug out of their sockets. If it weren't for his spyssassin reflexes, she's sure that the apple in his hand would've fallen to the ground.

A little whiny sound streams from his lips. "Aw, Darce, no. Why did Barnes of all people get the Sacred Munchies of Lewis? I thought I was your favorite."

She raises an eyebrow, an amused expression glinting in her brilliant sapphire eyes. She flashes a quirky smirk at him. _Oh, really? Since when did I say that?_ she mouths before turning her back to him, putting the dish into the sink, and switches the sink on. She knows he can lip read fluently in English, so she knows he understood what she just said.

He huffs and throws the apple core in the trashcan. Then she can hear him slide off the counter and land on his feet. "Pfft, rude," he says before exiting the room. She rolls her eyes fondly at his retreating backside. Then she proceeds to continue the task of washing the container in the sink.


	3. Their Thing

Darcy knows that his spontaneous appearance during the first half of the Fellowship was most likely, almost definitely, a one-time thing, but she doesn't even try to quell the tiny blossom of disappointment that blooms in her chest and radiates to the rest of her being when he doesn't show up as she pops in the second movie of the Lord of the Ring Trilogy. After the menu appears on the screen, she goes to the kitchen and begins putting together the ingredients essential for the Sacred Munchies of Lewis. Once her movie provisions have been adequately prepared, she makes her way back to her living room, snacks in hand.

At the sight of the back of the head full of long, brunette hair, she doesn't even try to hide or cover up the small spark of a smile from twitching at the corners of her lips. He's sitting facing the screen in a lounging position with one of his seriously muscled arms (the metal one) resting against the back of the couch, his back to her as she reenters the room. Even with his back to her, he knows she's there because he clicks the button on the remote in his grip that starts up the film. She shrugs off the lingering question of how he even knew she was watching the movie in her apartment in the first place and plops down next to the ex-assassin, placing her bowl of snacks in the space between them. Once again, they let themselves be lost to the amazing world that Tolkien had the brilliance and geniusness (Yes, Tony, it's a damn word. How do I know that? because I made it one with my awesomeness, which is also a word.) to create and share with the world.

Just like the first time, he leaves with only a small, whispered "thank you" to linger on for some time after he's left the room.

Then it happens again, and again, and again. Soon, they meet up to watch something so often that she comes to think of watching movies with just the two of them to be their Thing. Sure, it's very true that she still very much so enforces Avengers Assemble for Movie Night or Suffer the Wrath of Lewis at least once each week, attendance required with the only exception being the end of the world or an actual Avengers Assemble to save people. However, Movie Night or Wrath, as it's been affectionately shortened to, thank you, Tony, is with everyone, and it's loud. Their Thing is a companionable quiet, something that just the two of them share.

Movies become their thing. More often than not, their interactions barely consist of more than her choosing a film, getting her Sacred Munchies prepped and ready to consume, and then him appearing in the time it takes to blink at the location of their movie-watching, but it's their Thing. Even if she's starting something in her apartment living room, she only has to wait a few minutes before he appears out of thin air.

At first, she picks out the films at random, choosing whichever one she's in the mood for currently. However, after he starts to appear consistently for more than 6 movies, she begins to choose films she hazards a very educated and almost undoubtedly correct guess that he's definitely missed during his time as a Super Soldier assassin popsicle, freeze and unfreeze as needed. They start with the globally agreed upon highlights from each year that he'd been Hydra's unwilling puppet. Then, after they've exhausted those films, she moves them on to her personal favorites. After those, she slowly introduces him to TV shows that she thinks are notable and important for him to know. Sometimes, he'll even request to re-watch something that he seemed to have enjoyed or didn't understand the first time around.

It's their Thing, and it's good. She's never set up any obligations for him, nothing that even so much as implies that he has to appear basically every time she decides to watch a movie for herself, but he does. Even on bad days, he'll show up, which she knows how to spot because, on these days, he'll sit with his back straighter than a rod. Despite the fact that he rarely says anything more than a thank you, she starts to learn whether it's a good or bad day by how he slouches relaxingly, or if he'll sit up straight.

The fact that she's started being able to pick up on his mood when he's around her is something she considers to be amazing. As far as history is concerned, the Winter Soldier is the best and deadliest assassin ever, and if he wanted to keep all of his emotions hidden, she'd never see anything more than a blank slate. However, she's not at all sure how, but she thinks she's made it onto the very short list of people that he trusts enough to show emotion to. And that knowledge (Guess? Assumption?) is something she deeply treasures. Slowly, she begins to learn things about him that make him, well, him.

She learns that he has a taste for the more bitter or salty portions of her Munchies. She learns that if he's enjoying, or even just a tad bit intrigued, by whichever picture they're viewing, he'll lean forwards ever-so-slightly and take handfuls of her food less frequently. She learns that he likes the simple plots more than the complicated ones, and she thinks that might be because they're easy, and don't require a lot of concentration to enjoy. She finds out that if he has to think too hard or too much about something, his brows will furrow, and he'll be still for quite a while. He might even slip into what she's dubbed his "Soldier Mode," which can happen if he thinks on something for too long that it might bring to light a new, unpleasant memory. Soldier Mode is where he'll lose any loose, or relaxed body language and tense up, and his eyes will lose any lively glow.

She learns the little things that no gossip magazine would ever even think to ask about when dredging up an article on the infamous Winter Soldier. She learns the tiny things that separate who he is now from the cocky, Brooklyn playboy of the 1930s and 40s, or even the cold, emotion-deprived assassin Hydra had kept caged for over 70 years. She sees things that make him the man he is now, a soul who's been left with a messy combination of both and is still figuring out how to put the pieces together. She learns the things that make him James.

It's their Thing, and she loves it.


	4. ASL

It comes out of nowhere. It's like a flash of Thor's lightning with its suddenness, and Darcy is left shocked in the wake of his words. As far as she remembers from their interactions, nothing had led up to this unpredicted declaration. She blinks a couple times in surprise and actually pauses the episode of Doctor Who they're watching (one of the TV shows she had felt pertinent to introduce him to after she learned that he's still a huge science-fiction nerd). Then she shifts her position so that she facing him completely to turn her full, gob-smacked attention on the man sitting beside her on her comfy, worn couch. She arches an eyebrow as her way of asking him to repeat his words. Normally, she doesn't enjoy making others repeat themselves and barely tolerates having to repeat something herself, but his sudden inquisition was so unexpected that she's not entirely sure she even heard him correctly. He stays facing the screen but says it again.

"I want to learn ASL. I want you to teach me," he tells her, still not looking at her.

It's not shame that creeps up her spine; Darcy absolutely refuses to be ashamed of her modern ways. Maybe it's regret for not taking Clint up on his offer to teach her ASL when the archer had suggested it? At the time, it just hadn't seemed necessary since he had posed the proposition during the time when there had still been a slight chance that Asgard and all its technical, medical, and magical advances could find a way to give Darcy her voice back. After it had been made clear that she would never speak again, she just didn't think she'd need to learn a language that barely anyone knows when she has other options for communication. She practically always has her Starkphone so she can type out a message. If that's not nearby, which is basically never, there's always the old-fashioned, but fun, pen and paper. Even all-knowing Friday, the Tower's new A.I. since Jarvis became Vision, is an option to help her with communicating with others.

In a flash, she has her phone out I hand, and she's furiously typing out her reply and then showing him the message on the screen.

 _I…I can't._

Now he turns with his brow furrowed and a confused, almost hurt expression on his face to look at her. "Why?"

Yep. She definitely regrets not letting HawtGuy teach her the silent language earlier. _I don't, uh, actually know it,_ she types before reluctantly letting him read her words, a slight touch of repentance creeping across her features sheepishly.

"Oh. Then do you wanna…" The rest of his sentence is rushed together and whispered so quietly that she's sure even a Super Soldier would have a somewhat difficult time understanding the words. She doesn't react to his question and waits for him to say it slow and loud enough for your average girl to hear and understand. He lets out a tiny huff but obliges her unspoken, untyped request. "Do you, um, wanna learn together? It could be, ya know, kinda fun." The end of his offer is punctuated with a barely there, but _there_ smile.

A bright beam of a smile is her only answer of affirmation. It must be all he needs because his smile grows, and his eyes lighten to a soft blue.

Then a question that seems prudent to ask pops into Darcy's head. _So then, do we take a class? Or use the all-knowing combination of Friday and Google to try learning—and let's be honest here, most likely butchering—ASL? Cuz, I seriously don't wanna ask Hawkass. He'd never leave either of us alone._

"I dunno. I kinda figured you'd be teachin' me. I guess takin' a class seems like the best option." He even shrugs.

 _Ok,_ she mouths, sending him a silent little laugh. Believing the conversation has reached its end, she returns her body back to its previous, movie-watching position and turns the film back to play.

Unlike their normal routine, she doesn't let him leave right as the credits across the screen. Nope. All through the film, a lingering question had been circulating around in her mind, nagging at her consciousness. This time, instead of letting him leave swiftly, she stops him with a hand to his arm, his metal arm. Sure, she's touched him before, but she's never intentionally reached out with the sole purpose to grasp his metal limb.

He looks down at where her hand is voluntary, purposefully giving contact to his metal arm with unveiled surprise radiating from his brilliantly bright eyes. Then he looks up to meet her eyes. She doesn't even have to speak. Her eyes ask the single worded question for her. _Why? Why would you want to learn Asl even after you know I don't even know it myself?_

The corners of his lips twitch upwards into a small smile, but he looks down at his lap, watching as he fiddles his fingers. "I, um, I thought that maybe if I learned ASL, we could…well, I thought it could be fun. Since we've already watched most of the flickers, and I'm all caught up on the Essentials of Pop Culture for Super Popsicles, it could be something else for us. You know…" he explains hesitantly, as though he didn't think she'd agree to it.

A grin spreads across her face at hearing this. Quickly, she types up a message then puts in from of his line of vision. _Well, since I barely know how to say more than_ yes _, it's a good thing we're gonna learn together!_

As James reads her message, Darcy doesn't even try to stop the happy dance going on in her mind. He wants to do more than watch stuff with her! Whatever this Thing is going on between them—friendship, bosom buddies, dating—he not only likes it, but he wants more. He likes being with her and wants to be around her more. He's offering her more than just an olive branch. He's practically offering her a whole damn, fully grown maple tree!

"Yeah, together." He's smiling at her now. He's actually smiling at her now!

Before today, he'd only ever given her a half smile or a smirk. Now, she sees him fully smile, and it's beautiful. His eyes are lighter than she's ever seen, and his smile actually reaches them. Looking at the expression that's famous for being a lady-charmer of the ages, she can see and understand how he earned the title of playboy. When he smiles, it radiates to his whole body, and his whole face lights up. He no longer looks like he's got the entire fucked up universe on his shoulders weighing him down. True, it's tinged with sadness and haunted with memories of better times and worse times. Pain and loss from decades long gone taint the corners of his smile, but it's beautiful.


	5. This Moment

They, meaning the Avengers, have just returned from doing all their daring do, and Darcy knows they're practically fainting from a nice little combination of physical and emotional exhaustion, but mostly from hunger. They're always exhausted after Avenging, even if the mission is only a simple one like playing stand-ins when the Fantastic Four aren't close enough to handle another silly Doombot invasion. The worry of making sure the number of casualties is kept to the minimum, or even better, nonexistent, along with the actual physical part of keeping the threat from being victorious makes for a group of very tired Avengers. Thankfully, the mission that the team is returning from was one of those "easier" missions, and the whole team hadn't technically been needed. However, everyone had gone because Steve had decided to use it to work on their team dynamic in the field. Now, they're coming back, and Darcy is totally prepared to welcome her conquering heroes home with open arms and a fuckton of food.

The plethora of varying take-out food has been ordered and delivered from the team's top four favorite restaurants. It is sitting on the extra-long table that Stark had specially made to hold all the food needed to fill the ginormous stomachs of their resident Asgardian, Super Soldiers (Now, two for the price of one!) and all the other starving Avengers and Co. ™. Jane and Pepper are setting out the dishes and utensils. The labs have been shut down for the night, and any earth-ending or potentially seriously dangerous experiments have been safely put on hold. Now, Darcy is waiting with Dr. Helen Cho near the landing pad for the quinjet with the resident heroes to arrive.

The pair of them only have to wait a few minutes longer before the _whooshing_ sound of the aircraft reaches their ears. Only a moment later, the cloaking of the quinjet is disabled, and they can see the Avengers appearing in the sky. Clint lands the craft on its designated place with practiced ease and grace. Soon, the on and off ramp is lowered, and all of the Avengers are piling out languidly. Once all nine supers have exited and Hellen and Sam have finished saying hello to each other enthusiastically with their lips, Darcy leads the starving group to the awaiting feast. Upon entering the common room, both Thor and Tony break away from the others to sweep their lady-loves off their feet. After the seriously affectionate greetings of the two couples, everyone moves to grab a plate, and then they start filling them with food.

When everyone's plates are piled high with their first serving (because let's just be plainly honest here: one helping may be enough for most normal people, but it's certainly not enough for basically any of Avengers and Co. ™), they meander to the dining table. Darcy ends up sitting with James on one side of her and Birdbrain Barton on the other, basically a bicep sandwich. This placement actually surprises her slightly. Sure, she and Barton are buddies who bicker nonstop, but barely anyone other than Jarvis knows about her Thing with James. In fact, the silver-armed assassin has never sat next to her during family dinner before, and this new development touches her.

Normally, the conversation floating around the table is energetic and animated. However, at the moment, it is dense with the aftermath of the mission still fresh in everyone's minds. A short period of time passes with a tired silence engulfing the group as they all simply eat their meal, building their strength back up. Once everyone has consumed at least one whole plate's worth of food, or two, or more (yes, she's looking at you, Thor, and you, Super Soldier Twinsies, and even you, you smartass little speedster), a couple people try starting up a somewhat lighthearted conversation. Almost unsurprisingly, it's Janey-dear who really succeeds in breaking the icy, saddened cloud that had fallen over the group when she strikes up a conversation with her Science! bro. Brucey on some sciencey topic that Darcy doesn't even try to attempt to understand. Slowly, the sound of their talking begins to sooth the tension away a bit, and voices begin to flow more freely than at the start of the meal-that-is-probably-almost-definitely-big-enough-to-be-considered-a-feast. Soon, the room is filled with lively talking and even boisterous story re-telling from Thor about previous battles he'd fought with the aid of the Warriors Three. People are finally relaxing and enjoying themselves and the meal. Even James isn't tensed up in his seat beside her.

It's loud with their talking. Sometime during Thor's lively storytelling, which just so happens to be about his battle with the Dark Elves in London this time, someone had gotten up to grab the desserts and then placed them on the table. It's loud and animated and everything Darcy Lewis used to be before Suck It, which is what she has aggravatedly dubbed the day she lost her voice. In this long moment, everything is perfectly fine, good even. _Life_ is good. In fact, for now, it's so good, that Darcy can ignore and almost forget about the bad stuff for a bit. She's surrounded by those she considers her friends, her family. For the moment, it's good.

And then the moment ends, and the truth of reality settles in. Everything is not okay, and she's just spitting out bullshit to herself when she tries to convince herself otherwise. She knows that if she were still the same girl she used to be, she'd fit right in with everyone. Hell, she might even have been the life and glue of the party, but she's not the same girl anymore. Life fucked her over because of one stupid ass flip of a switch, and now, even two years later, she's still trying to pick up the pieces of who she used to be to see if she any of it still fits. They don't, not really.

She's not the Darcy Motherfucking Lewis, and the pieces are jagged and worn with experience now. She still enjoys being with her friends and truly is friends with each and every one of them, but she knows that she's the odd man out. Sure, she can still do most anything she used to before Suck It, but the things she can't do are the ones that she always thought to play a huge part in defining herself. When she could speak, she wore her snark and sass like a bright badge. She had a tongue sharp as a damn serrated knife and a vocabulary colorful enough to make a soldier and a sailor blush crimson. And damnit, she was fucking proud of it, too! She took no one's bullshit. Now, she has no voice to sing out sarcastic remarks, and it's nowhere near as satisfying to insult someone through typed up messages on her phone. If she were in an argument and she was actually putting an effort into it, she could win an argument in no time flat. Now, it takes too long, and she's found that the same things that that used to rile her into a heated argument, while are still most likely very important, don't light her up anymore. She could read a situation and know just how someone needed comfort. And while she's still great at deducing how someone needs comforting, it's harder now because how in the world can she try to help someone else gather the pieces when she has no idea how to find hers? Things like these and more are things she won't get back.

Who knew having a voice defined so much of who she thought herself to be? It was ingrained so deep into her system, and even the thought of the possibility of losing it rarely ever crossed her mind. Now, it's a stupid reality that she wishes she didn't have to accept as truth, and she's not really sure where she fits in in this world anymore.

 _Okay, that's enough! No more pity party, yeah? It's alright. You're still alive, and that's got to count for something…right?_ she tells herself, worried that if she follows her current train of thought, she'll fall down a rabbit hole that she might not get back out anytime soon. A frown curls her lips downwards, and her brow furrows. She scans the table for something to distract her from her thoughts. Her eyes find the plate of chocolate peanut butter brownies at the opposite end of the table from her, sitting innocently right in front of Thor. After a moment of searching for a tasty something that is closer to her and not finding something as appetizing now that her mind is filled with delicious brownie, she decides she must have one (or, you know, maybe more) of those chocolate yummies.

She pokes Clinton in the bicep (ooh, lip-smacking biceps), and, despite his asshole tendencies, he actually turns his head towards her attentively. "Yeah, Darce? Whatcha need?" he asks. While he can be a jerkass during 98% of the time, when they're at meals, he somehow manages to rein his jerkiness in during family dinners because he always makes sure he doesn't ignore her if she's asking for food. She points as the plate of confectionary that she desires and mouths _brownies please._ He nods in understanding.

And it's okay. For now, in this moment, things are fine again.


	6. Tony is a Fanfuckingtastic Good Bro

She remembers that cruel day so clearly, so fucking clearly. She remembers waking up to find herself lying on a sterile, white hospital bed, tubes of medicine sticking out of her. Machines monitoring her status beeped near her bedside on one of those screen thingies on a pole. Her vision had been fuzzy and foggy, but she could make out the bump of a human curled up on a chair next to her bed that she assumed to be her astrophysicist boss-lady/sister-from-another-mister, Jane. She felt incredibly weak and light headed, probably more from the drugs—the _good_ ones, yes! —than anything else, but somehow, she managed to find the strength needed to lift the arm closest to the tiny scientist. She then attempted to nudge her friend enough to wake the sleeping beauty. Apparently, she succeeded because Janey bolted right up, a startled and bedraggled expression painting her face.  
"Wha—Darcy! You're awake! Thank Thor! How are you feeling?"

"Like hell ran me over and Mew Mew-" she tried to say before realizing no voice was coming from her cracked lips, only tiny, pathetic puffs of air. What in the ever-loving _fuck had_ happened to her voice?

"Darce, are you okay? Here, I'll go get the doctor." A huff escaped her, but the younger brunette managed a half-assed attempt at a slow nod. Jane disappeared for a few moments, leaving the Poli-Sci major alone with her thoughts, before coming back with a middle-aged man in a white lab coat and a sad, soft look his face. He sat down on one of those spinning stool things that medical places always seem to have while Jane quietly slipped into the chair she'd been sleeping in previously.

"Hello, Miss Lewis, I'm Dr. Calvin. I'm happy to see you're finally awake. You've been out for quite a little while now and gave us all quite a scare," he said. Then he proceeded to inform her of the damage. Nothing too unexpected. A few broken ribs. Other fractured bones, some of which had already been healing adequately while she was in her coma. Any bumps and bruises were also healing nicely. She'd been in a coma for a couple weeks now. Then, just when Darcy thinks everything is just fine, she hears the one thing she's been hesitantly waiting for: the reason her voice is gone. It's nerve damage. None of the other injuries had made any sense. They hadn't been around her head area, and they hadn't been severe enough to warrant losing her voice. "I'm very sorry, but I don't believe you'll ever be able to speak again."

He then went on to explain how the nerve damage had affected her voice and her brain. He spouted a bunch of complicated reasoning, using long, fancy sounding words, but Darcy was not listening at all. His voice became like a background sound to her, fuzzy and not fully comprehensible. As soon as she had heard that her voice was gone, most likely for good, she had simply stopped listening. Her brain could still process words and shit in and out of her brain, but the actual speaking bit wasn't gonna happen anytime soon, if ever again. She had always joked that her mind wasn't exactly sane, but now, her head really wasn't all there.

After hearing all this, she had to know what had happened to Ian. When that ray thingy had hit the two of them, she had been knocked out by the force of it, and, apparently, she hadn't woken up since then.

According to Janey, Ian the Intern had been fine. Somehow, he hadn't really been affected by the weird space ray thingy. They think she was affected because her head had been sticking out and was potentially hit with the full force of the energy while he was completely hidden by a wall. Otherwise, it was mostly guesswork done by doctors who had no idea how to deal with injuries caused by timey-wimey wibbly-wobbly space shit that had only just been discovered by Jane like only a couple months ago. Whatever caused Darcy to be affected and whammied apparently decided to leave Ian the Intern alone because he didn't even pass out. In fact, she was told that he had even been able to crush a car on oncoming Dark Elves. After the Dark Elves Incident was done, and he knew for certain that Darcy was mostly okay, he barely took the time to breathe before deciding that he was done with this "alien clusterfuck of a mess" (his exact words) and left them for greener, safer pastures.

Since there really wasn't much damage other than a few bruises and the obvious lack of her voice, she was allowed to leave the hospital after only a couple days. It only took her a few days of being home before she couldn't take it anymore, and she started frantically looking for a cure.

Contacting Thor and asking for any oh-so-much-better Asgardian healing was out of the question. Once the battle of London had ended, and he'd been assured of his Little Lightning Sister's physical stability, he'd had to return to the Realm Eternal to help with rebuilding and ensuring the continual safety of the city, Odin's orders. As for the asking for any wham-bam healing, Odin had also ordered a ban on any interstellar traveling using the Bifrost—Einstein-Rosen—Rainbow Bridge—Whatever, barring absolute emergencies. And everyone knew that giving a mortal, a child compared to him, her voice back would hardly warrant emergency stature, so they didn't even do anything more than to rule that option out as anything more than a hint of an idea. Any hope for Eir, or any Aether healer, really, to come down and do her voodoo healing was a no-go, so Darcy had to rely on Midgardians and their "backward" ways.

It didn't work. None of it did. She tried anything and everything, which given their practically nonexistent budget, wasn't anywhere near as much as it could've been if they'd had the funds they have now. What she could afford, though, she tried. She tried it all, and none of it succeeded in giving Darcy "Fuck Yeah" Lewis her snark and sassy voice back. It was gone, and she wasn't getting it back. By the time the pair of astrophysicist and Scientist Wrangler Extraordinaire had gotten the funds for the really good stuff, the stuff that would've worked if administered early enough, it was too late. The wound had been left incorrectly treated for too long. The damage was done and permanent. Even Helen Cho couldn't do anything.

So, Darcy adapted.

If there's one thing Darcy Lewis prides herself on, aside from her ability to out-sass and snark anyone, it's her ability to adapt and go with the flow. Passed around from foster home to foster home? Sucked balls, but she handled it. Puberty stick hits with a bang? Ugh, fine. A fuckton of part-time jobs and loans to pay for college? Exhausting and tiring, but dealt with. Six measly science credits to graduate? Okay, she could do that. Only internship available is a position with an astrophysicist that the world of Science! thinks is crazy as fuck? Sure, she'll take it! The sky raining hot dudes who actually turn out to be Norse gods, but aren't actually gods and can be downed by her Taser? Cool. Giant as fuck murder bot from space, hellbent on making sure Thor never makes it back home? Not as fun, but she survived and even managed to make sure others did too! Thor gone, leaving a heartbroken Janey-dear behind? (Seriously, it was only a couple days, honey, but apparently, love at first sight is a Thing?) Okay, sure, Darcy's also a _great_ listener. Spontaneous work in Tromso? Well, where Jane Foster goes, so does Darcy. Thor back but not to see Jane (even after a whole goddamn year)? Break out the Ben and Jerry's!

Then London and all the batshit crazy that came with it happened. Again, Darcy did her best to adapt. She learned how to survive without her voice, something that she'd always had and had been a majorly vital part of who she'd always thought she was. Before losing her voice, she was already pretty great at typing on her phone, but without having any sounds coming from her mouth, she became absolutely amazing, thank you very much. Texting became her main mode of communication. She invested some well-spent money on an air horn a whistle for when Jane became too enraptured by the wonders of Science! to notice Darcy's other attempts.

When Tony asked them to join him and the other scientists in Candyland (his wording!), Jane was skeptical at first, but then Thor was casually mentioned and off the pair of petite women went to Candyland. By then. She'd been without her voice for months, and she'd adapted to surviving without it, physically. Physically, it was okay. _She_ was okay. Life went one, and she was forced to go with it. She quickly became the Head Managers of the Scientists once Pepper and Jarvis saw how easily she took to adding Tony and Bruce to her Jane-keeping schedule. Then, after living in the Tower for a little while, she slowly met and befriend each Avenger, and her tendency to want to take care of people branched out and latched on to them too. Soon, she added Superhero Wrangler to her list of skilllz, the job being more of a hobby than an actual facts job to her. Physically, she was good, and barely anyone was none the wiser.

Mentally and emotionally, she was lost. She kept herself busy by focusing on others because if she let herself focus on herself long enough, her true mental state started to catch up. If she was around someone, she could focus on them and help them with their problems, ignoring herself. So, she did. It was bad, toxic, to do so, and she knew it. The helping others bit wasn't bad, but she knew that the ignoring her own problems was. She just couldn't bring herself to stop. And when she didn't have someone else around to occupy her, she kept herself busy in other ways. She tried knitting and crocheting, but apparently making things with yarn just wasn't her calling. She tried cooking and baking, but, heh, who knew not paying attention in chemistry all those years ago would come back to haunt her? Eventually, after a bit of trial and error, she found out that reading was distracting enough, and she became an avid reader.

Despite trying as hard as she did to forget and ignore how lost and broken her mind and soul was becoming, she couldn't. Some part of her mind wouldn't let her forget that something inside of her was missing and would never come back. And she wasn't dealing with it. At all. Everyone thought that she was okay and that she was dealing with it fine, but she wasn't

And if she's honest with herself, even now, especially now, she still isn't. She really truly isn't. Even after all this time, she hasn't actually addressed her problems. They've just gotten bigger while she stuffs them in a closet at the back of her mind. She focuses on others and their problems instead of hers, and it's easy. It's just so easy. Aside from the Avengers and Co.™, there's no one else to tell about the nothingness in her soul. No family to care and support her during this harsh reality. Her dad was in the Marines and didn't make it back to see his little girl come into the world shrieking like a banshee. Her mother had given her last breath as Darcy took hers. As far as she knows, no aunts and or uncles who wanted to claim her as their own, and no grandparents still breathing. Nearly everyone she's friends with these days has some problem that seems more severe and painful than hers. In fact, it's practically a criterion to be associated with the Avengers. As for the daring doers, themselves, all of them have ghosts haunting them, and if she compares her nightmares lurking in the past, she doesn't want to bother them with her issues.

Clint was raised in a circus that wouldn't have won any awards for "best child-raising environment"t and betrayed by his older brother. And that was only his childhood, his clusterfuck of memories and the missions he's been involved in notwithstanding. Bruce, dear, sweet Bruce, had a screwed-up childhood before having to live on the run after Harlem. Natasha…Darcy's not even going to poke her nightmare of a life with a twenty-foot iron pole. Steve had had enough physical problems that he realistically shouldn't have survived to see his third birthday, and that was before becoming a Super Soldier. After that, well, he fought in the second World War, and everyone knows that soldiers of any war never come back whole, and the second World War was one of the bloodiest in history. Then he woke up after a seventy-year-long nap only to find his best friend didn't actually die during the war but instead became Super Soldier 2.0, assassin model. As for Thor…perhaps he's the one could claim to be the most whole, and that's saying something with his whole "brother trying to kill him with a murder bot" thing. As for Tony, it isn't well known to most of the world, but those who are closer to him know that, despite his loud, playboy personality, a therapist would get lost trying to navigate the tangle of daddy issues, being blamed for every bad thing issue, and the PTSD that had no doubt appeared, if it hadn't already, after sacrificing himself for the good of Earth only for his heroic act to immediately forgotten. Any one of the Avengers and many of their friends could break a therapist after only one session.

Then Ultron happened, and the twins were brought in, bringing with them a whole new tangled mess of problems. And after that, James decided that he was ready to be done running. Just when Darcy had almost mustered enough courage to be done hiding her issues, James came in. Then everyone became so occupied with helping him and making they didn't trigger his "Winter Mode" that she didn't think her problems were worth mentioning to anyone. So, she left them alone to fester and grow until she couldn't take it anymore.

And she can't anymore.

She's so tired of pretending that she's fine. She's so drained from giving and giving when there was nothing left to give in the first place. She's given them everything she had, and now she's just drained and empty and hollow. And it's not their fault they kept taking. They didn't even know they were drawing from an empty well. She's held in her tears for so long that she's not entirely sure that given the chance, she'd be able to let them out. The hollow, chokingly tight feeling in her chest that usually only came when she couldn't cry anymore is a common, daily feeling to her now. It's not always present and obvious, but it's always there. Things like jokes and making fun of Birdbrain Barton are no long as funny to her as they were when she had a voice that could let out peals of body-shaking laughter.

Pain isn't a game. It's not something that can be measured or compared. She knows that, but damnit, she can't help but feel that she's pathetic compared to them. They've been to hell and back, and they still go out and risk their lives so people like her could go to sleep at night. If she tells them that she's losing it, she knows she'll feel like a child.

"Don't. Don't do that to yourself." The unexpected voice cuts through her void of lost thoughts that she's drowning in. At hearing his soft words, so uncharacteristic of his normally snarky demeanor, she turns her head to glance at the owner of the voice then goes back to staring aimlessly at the window in front of her. "Don't minimize your pain. It's still real. It's still yours. And, stop me if I'm wrong, I'm gonna guess that it still hurts like a bitch." She hadn't expected that anyone had noticed her little moment in during dinner last night.

His words touch her deeply, and suddenly she can't hold the dam in any longer. The chest-heaving, silent sobs come like a fucking flood that had been held back for so long that she didn't even know they could still fall. They just keep coming and coming, and they don't seem anywhere near close to stopping at all. After the first wave of tears bursts out of her, she collapses, unable to even keep herself on two feet a second more. Then she feels strong arms wrap themselves around her, and she doesn't know or care who it is that sees her like this, a fucking mess, because she's so fucking tired of pretending that everything's fine.

She thought she could do it, could keep it hidden that she really isn't dealing with everything as good as everyone thinks, but she can't. She's broken. She's not whole anymore, and she never will be anymore. Something inside her is gone forever.

Time passes, and she's not sure how long it is before her tears have subsided to only hiccups with little creeks of liquid. Whoever it is holding her is still there. She lets out a slow, easy breath before opening her eyes to finally meet their face.

The concerned eyes that meet hers surprise her. Despite how much of an asshole he can be at times, Clinton is one of her best friends, and, aside from Jane, he'd be the one to notice if she's struggling with something. However, it's not Clint or even Natasha, who seems to have a special superpower just for detecting emotional distress. Instead, it's Tony "Holy Shit" Stark.

He smiles sadly as he hands her a slightly dirty cloth from his back pocket. Then he does something he never does, he gives her a full-on hug, and it's amazing. While they're grasping each other, he whispers into her ear. "Pain isn't a game, Darce. If it were, I'm not sure who would win and who would lose? Is the one who has the most? Or the lucky fucker who manages to mostly avoid it? Whoever's pain it is, I can guarantee you that it still hurts like a motherfucking bitch." He leans back and holds her at arm's length to hold her watery stare. "Don't minimize your pain. It's not any worthless just because it's not the same kind as mine." Then, because tonight is just so full of surprises and angst, he gives her a soft kiss on the forehead before leading her to the couch and settling down beside her, an arm slung around her shoulders comfortingly. It's so fucking out of character for him. She's not naïve. She knows that come tomorrow, he'll act like tonight never happened, but right now, she revels in this moment.

It's not long before he's passed out beside her, and she quickly follows him into the world of dreams, a kind of contentment making itself at home in her heart and soul. She's still broken and still very lost, but for now, the tears that she's shed have been enough to calm the messy hurricane raging inside her. For the first time in months, Darcy is able to fall asleep without a heavy, tangled weight inside her.


	7. To Eat or Not to Eat

"What the hell is that, doll?" the voice behind her startles her from her deep concentration on the toaster in front of her, but not enough that she looks away from the pastry gooodness. To Darcy, toasting the pastry to a perfect gold is an art form, and she doesn't dare look away in fear of missing the precious moment the toasting is done. Guessing that he's talking about the shiny silver packaging that still holds one last pastry in it, she blindly points at the box, not taking her eyes away from the prize. He huffs, but she can see from her peripheral view that he grabs the box.

"S'mores Pop tarts. The hell is that, doll?" Silence. Then: "Goddamn, the amount of sugar and fancy named shit in this...Lewis, are these things even edible?" A smile quirks at the edges of her lips. He actually read the ingredients and nutritional facts! Who does that? That is totally something she has tried to avoid because she doesn't need or want to know all of the less than wholesome, kosher shit she's been putting in her body by consuming the goodness known as pop tarts. She nods. Of course, her sweet dears are edible! How else had she survived on a college student's budget while at Culver and then while keeping Jane alive in the asscrack of New Mexico? "Actually, I don't know why I'm asking you that. Of course, you'd think it passes as edible!" Aw! He knows her!

She holds up a finger behind her, gesturing for him to hush. Then she presses the cancel button on the toaster and up pops her pop tart, a perfect golden all the way around. Delicately grabbing it with the tips of her fingers to keep from burning them, she plates it. Turning around, she nods to let him know he can continue talking as she blows on her food to cool it down.

"Darcy, how have you not died yet?" He's got an incredulous look in his eyes. She arches a challenging eyebrow as she picks up her tart, blows on it, and then takes a considerable bite. She chews it with deliberately slow and dramatic movements. "Jesus, woman! Fine, go sit down." Amused at his antics, she sits down to watch him as she polishes off the rest of her tart.

He mutters something unintelligible, but Darcy can make out words like "edible, my ass" and "ma" and "have my hide." She watches as he pulls out a cutting board, some actual kitchen knives, and grabs a towel to hang on his left shoulder. Then he's taking out some eggs, olive oil, vegetables, shredded cheese and a pan. After pouring a small amount of the oil into the pan and turning the burner on, he sets about preparing...whatever it is he's gonna make. With expertise, he rinses the veggies and then cuts them into to precise slices or cubes. Then he cracks the eggs almost perfectly in half, stupidass show off, into the pan. Next, he adds the veggies and cheese. While his back is turned to finish up the food, she takes the opportune moment to unashamedly ogle his fine piece of ass. Hey, she may be mute, but she sure as fuck ain't dead or blind.

Only a few minutes later, he's turning around with an omelet of admirable size in his hands. He slides it over to her, a fork quickly accompanying it. A teasing deceptive expression in her eyes, she makes a big show of getting some of it on her utensil and inspecting it before putting it in her mouth. Then her eyes widen as she swoops down on her food for more. Wonderful, amazing flavor bursts in her mouth. She can hear a chuckle from wherever he is, but she ignores it. Instead of inhaling the blessed omelet, she eats it slowly, savoring the flavors coming at her. There are a couple spices, so she thinks he probably sprinkled some on top while his back was turned to her.

By the time she's a little more than half way through with hers, he's sitting down with a much larger omelet of his own. While he eats his, he sports a proud and smug smirk. Once he's done, she's already practically licked the damn plate clean. "So?" he asks unnecessarily. She growls in her throat before wildly throwing her hands in the air. She gestures at him and then the empty plates repeatedly for a few solid minutes. Then she settles for simply sighing and motioning at him to explain.

He gets up and gathers his plate. He's about to grab hers as well, but she stops him by doing it herself. Her mama taught her that if they cook, you either clean everything up or helped them if they were too stubborn to let you do it alone. The pair goes over and put their stuff in the dishwasher. As they continue to clean up the kitchen, he tells his story.

"Growin' up, we never had a whole lot of food in the kitchen at any given time. Somehow, my ma still managed to make nearly everything taste good. As a little kid, I loved helpin' her make dinner most nights. My ma gave zero fucks about the whole idea that the kitchen is a woman's place and not a man's. She believed that if you wanna be a cook, then you can damn well be one. If I popped into the kitchen while she was cookin, she'd teach me everythin' she knew about what she was makin'. It, well, it became somethin' special.

"Then, when I, well...after hydra, Sam said I should find a hobby, somethin' that wasn't connected to hydra to ground me in the present. My first memory about my ma was us cookin' together, and I've been figuring it out ever since." She smiles warmly at his explanation. "Our, um, movies were...well, at first I heard that you were playing that Lord of the Rings movie, and I figured why not cuz it was on my list of things. Then I...I just kept goin' back. An' our Thing became somethin' that kept the, uh, bad shit away." The capitalized "T" when he says "our Thing" is completely implied, and she has to keep in a tiny squeal in at hearing that he has placed such high emphasis

She's touched. She really is. She's always loved their Thing, but now, she loves it so much more.

"So, I was lookin' around with the help of F.R.I.D.A.Y. for a place that teaches ASL. If...you still wanna, that is."

A bright smile stretches across her lips. They hadn't actually really talked about the subject since that conversation all those weeks ago. Of course, she'd been discreetly looking for a place, but, just like his little offering of friendship that one seemingly horrible night, she hadn't been entirely sure he'd been serious about ASL with her.

"Anyways, I, uh, found this place in Brooklyn. The AI and I were lookin', and I think they're good. They're called ASL NYC. They do private lessons…" he trails off at this.

It makes sense. While he's been cleared by the government, a lot of people were full of shit and didn't really agree. Plus, she knew it would be much better for both of them to have a private thing. Less stress for both of them. She nods agreeably as she scrubs the tables and he does the pan.

Once everything is cleaned, they mush over to the couches in the communal room. She makes sure to get all cozy on her bit of couch before giving him her full attention. "I was thinkin' we could maybe do it more one-on-one, but, you know, with both of us there. It would, uh, be easier if I weren't in a big classroom. Figure I could do it if it were only the three of us."

She holds up a finger to tell him to wait a sec while she pulls out her phone and starts to type with a fury. Then she hands it over. Awesome. I was thinking that too. We could...call them?

"I was thinkin' maybe we could ask Natalia to look for someone. If she trusts them, I think I could too." He's sheepish about it, even reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. His eyes flick down and then back up to hers unassumingly. She smiles and holds up two thumbs up encouragingly.


	8. Painting, Wine, and a Badass Black Widow

"Get up." The voice startles her enough that she nearly chokes on her pile of ice cream. It's not a request or a suggestion at all, not even a smidge of room for negotiation or wiggling implied. She glances up from her sugar, looking noncommittally for the spyssassin Avenger, and then simply goes back to shoving a huge scoop pf the frozen delight into her mouth when she sees no one directly in her line of sight. An irritated clearing of a throat comes from behind her, and she swirls around on her chair. Her eyes widen as she finally meets the unamused gaze of the resident lethal redheaded Russian. Then Darcy does something that she knows hell will rain payback fire down on her for by actually attempting to ignore an actual facts assassin right out of Russia, but she still does it anyways. She swivels right back around to stuff her face with more ice cream. The caffeine from her morning dose of Chai latté has not kicked in yet, which is the reason for the sugar intake, and she still feels like a lump of squishy laziness.

 _Fuck_ , is all Darcy can think, remembering the very determined look in Nat's eyes. _Yep, I am so totally fucked, and not in that good way._

"Get up. We're leaving," the woman behind her repeats, and Darcy inwardly groans. Not another training session!

Only about a month of living at the Avengers and Co.™ part of the Tower had passed before the gorgeous Black freaking Widow had barged into the labs and dragged both astrophysicist and assistant to the training center. She'd said something about living with the Avengers putting too big of a target on their backs and self-defense. Of course, neither Jane nor Darcy had had a death wish or were idiots and didn't put up even a slight bit of resistance. Thus, began the twice a week training sessions with the Black Widow.

At first, the sessions had started out consisting mostly of lots and lots and fucktons of running on a treadmill. "To build up stamina" had been the only explanation offered. Then, about a month later, when the Widow, "call me Nat or Natasha" was finally satisfied that the pair had built up an "adequate enough endurance and metabolism that you might actually be able to outrun most bastards" (Nat's words), she started teaching them different ways of getting out of the various holds she locks that some asshole could potentially put them in. They also worked on picking locks with bobby pins and other such things that help with escaping from asshole goons or your regular old asshole, like hotwiring a car and being super-duper loud enough to be noticed. Now, Darcy and Jane are still totally civilians, but at least they aren't helpless little civilians anymore. Self-rescuing princesses for the fucking win!

Lately, though, the training sessions have been limited to only once a week, and Darcy just had one a couple days ago! Damnit! Couldn't a girl eat her ice cream in peace anymore? Resigned to whatever fate Nat has in store, Darcy slumps, shoots her food one last longing glance, and turns to face her friend. Then she does a delighted but confused, double take. Nat's in normal, civilian clothes! Not even exercise get up! Yes! Thank you, deity in the sky looking for her that she's pretty sure isn't Odin! Even if you sucked before during Suck It!

"Get up. We're leaving. Put on some clothes you feel comfortable getting dirty in, if your current clothes aren't already that. Meet me down at the garage in ten minutes." Then she's gone, leaving Darcy in awed fear and confusion.

Darcy lets out a long, calm breath and looks sadly at the remaining pile of ice cream still in her bowl. She whines a bit before deciding it's all astound safer, smarter, and more likely trip keep her alive if she just does what Nat wants and puts her treat back into the fridge, confident that even if some smartass idiot (read: Clint or Pietro or even Steven, that troll) decides to eat her shit, she'll just stick laxatives in their next week of meals. After all, is payback a bitch? Well, when she wants to be, Darcy Lewis can be _the_ Bitch, especially when someone eats her shit without asking, the resident Russian assassins being the exception of course. (She's not dumb enough to get between them and food.)

Anyway, ten minutes later sees Darcy marching into the garage in comfy as fuck brightly colored leggings, a lightweight tee, and Doc Martens, exactly on time and a Chai in hand. (What? She'd had time! Fuck off, judgy mcjudgies!) Leaning against the side of a really expensive dark blue car, like her entire college tuition expensive, is Nat, just like Darcy knew she'd be. With a nod at each other, they slip into the vehicle, Nat obviously driving since Darcy has no idea where the fuck they're going.

Unfortunately (or fortunately depending on how you look at it), traffic feels like being "seriously a snail is faster than us!" slow, even with Nat at the wheel, so it takes them nearly an hour to get to a place she's pretty sure would've only taken half that if traffic was being cooperative. When they finally park, they only have to walk for about a minute before they're in front of a place with a bright blue sign declaring "Jessica Blue's Hues," a bright blues paint splatter dotting the "i" and in place of an apostrophe.

Inside, they're greeted by a hodgepodge of a room. Paintings line the walls in bright colors. Along one side a bar with wine and other alcohol lines the wall. A couple of rows of tables with small easels face one side of the room, which Darcy guesses is more than likely the "front" of the room. Surprisingly, or maybe unsurprisingly since she's The Badass Motherfucking Black Widow (yeah, Darcy will never get over that), Nat seems right at home as she waltzes in. A bright smile lights up Darcy's face at the sight of the room. It's loud and colorful and just plain ass awesome. Darcy loves it.

A kind, excited middle-aged woman walks up to them with a smile. "Hello, Natalie, how are you today? I was thinking we could do a lake picture today. Does that sound alright?"

"Hello, Jessica, I'm doing alright. Of course, that sounds great," the redhead answers with a tiny hint of a smile.

"I see you brought a friend," Jessica states as she turns towards Darcy. She sticks out a hand. "Hello, I'm Jessica Blue."

Darcy grabs her outstretched hand and shakes it firmly with a beam of her own.

"This is Darcy," Nat informs her. Jessica nods.

"It's lovely to meet you, Darcy. Now, why don't you two grab a seat in front of an easel while I grab my stuff?"

Once everything has been properly set out for the three of them, Jessica shows them an example of the finished product. It's a gorgeous moonlit scene of a cherry blossom tree overlooking a crystalesque lake. It also intimidates the fuck out of Darcy, who kinda really only knows how to make stick figures and strangely realistic looking eyes. Good thing Nat brought along a nice bottle of wine expensive enough that Darcy is pretty sure it cost more than the same amount as one whole semester at Culver because there aren't even lines to trace on the canvas. Taking a nice healthy gulp of the fancy ass wine, she gives the other two women fucking beaming smile of confidence. If Nat believes in her (she brought her after all, right?), then she can totally do this! Right? Right!

The first thing Jessica has them do is paint the entire canvas black. Then they're working on the moon drawing circles and shit. Then they're filling it in. Then they're doing the lake water. And before she realizes it, she only has the tree left! And she's only had like a glass and a half of wine! Fuck yeah! It even looks pretty decent too!

By the time they're done, Darcy feels pretty good about herself and no longer feels like a lump of lazy. In fact, despite the lovely wine running and flowing through her veins, she doesn't feel too drowsy. As she stares at the finished product of her painting, she can't really help the bright upward curve of her lips lighting up her face. It doesn't look like shit! In fact, it looks all fancy and professional—okay, maybe not professional, but like really, really good. She looks over to compare hers to Nat's and she's pleased with the results. Sure, they're not exactly alike, but that's to be expected since no two people are gonna do something the exact same way, but they both look really good. Honestly, she feels pretty proud of herself. Her painting doesn't look perfectly like the example, but it's a damn close second.

All in all, Darcy likes hers enough to actually be really, really fucking proud of it.

As they're driving home, a warm fuzzy feeling bubbles up inside her tummy, one that she hasn't felt in months and had almost forgotten what it feels like. It's the feeling of unweighted happiness, without the normal shadow of tiredness, pain, and just overall exhaustion that normally hides behind her good, positive emotions. It's light and kinda and bright and beaming. Sure, the whole light feels could be attributed to the alcohol in her system, but she's pretty sure it's not that. She's pretty sure this feeling blossoming and growing in her confused soul is just awesomeshit, good old-fashioned happiness.

"Darcy," Nat's voice pushes through the happy haze of her mind. She turns to look at her friend with a soft look to listen. "I'm not going to make you try and talk about what happened at dinner that night, but I'm not going to let you think that you were invisible to us, to me. We noticed; _I_ noticed. _You_ are noticed. You may not be who you used to be, but none of us are, птичка ( _little bird)_. You may not have a vocal cord, Darcy, you have a _voice_. You are _heard._ You are _loved._ Most of all, _you are noticed_. Do not forget that," Nat says. "You may not be the person you were before you lost your voice, but that's alright. We're not asking you to be. We're not even asking that you know exactly who you are. It's okay that you're still trying to figure it out. Just, please, don't think you have to do it, anything, alone. We're here."

At first, her voice surprises Darcy enough that she doesn't really hear the words and the meaning behind them so much as she hears the voice washing over her, soft and sort of scratchy, maybe even a refined rough, in the way only Nat's voice is. Then the words sink in, and Darcy is touched, so fucking _touched_. Her breaths become stuttered a little as her chest heaves and shutters. Tears have begun to trickle down her cheeks in little streams, good tears. She doesn't really understand why her body is reacting this way, but then she thinks it's because her soul has decided that it couldn't be constrained to just a smile and is showing itself in the only other way it can right now, in joyful droplets of liquid. Natasha never really says much, but she always knows what to say to reach Darcy.

The rests of the way back to the Tower, Darcy glows with joy. It's still only early afternoon, and shit will fuck up the rest of the day for all she knows, but now, right now, nothing can mess with her time with Nat. It is theirs and it is untainted and it is good and it is so, so amazing.


	9. If You Love Me (Don't Let Go)

When Darcy wakes up, she's still pretty much half asleep and still doing a great as fuck impression of a zombie, but she can feel eyes on her. The tiny hairs on the back of her neck slowly rise as a shiver slithers down her spine. She glances around to find a lone figure crouched near the window and angled towards her. At seeing the person's hunched but alert position in her room, the first thought to run across her mind is that holy fucking shit, there's a person in her room! How in the fucking hell did they make it past Friday? Sure, the newer A.I. isn't Jarvis and his all-knowing amazingness, but she's smart enough to know that an intruder is never welcome. Then she thinks about it and, even through her sleep-fogged mind, figures out that Friday would never let anyone into her room unless they lived here and had consented access. Still, the fact that someone had gotten into her room while she was asleep makes her question whose consent was given since hers certainly wasn't, as far as she knows.

With a couple more swipes across her face to get the sleepies out of her eyes, ergo hopefully waking her up a bit more, Darcy makes the (maybe not so wise?) decision to go identify the person and learn why they're here. Then she's sliding out of her bed and padding gently towards her guest, slipping her phone off the nightstand and into her hand on the way. It's still dark out, at least from what she can tell, so in some part of her currently slow mind, a voice is telling her to tread carefully. Whoever it is probably isn't in the best of mindsets, most likely due to a not-so-lovely bout of nightmares that she knows everyone in the Tower suffers from.

Sure enough, as she gets closer, she can make out the familiar features of James' face. Relief that it's just him ripples through her. Somewhere among their many movie watching encounters becoming a Thing, she'd given him unreserved access to her place so that he could get comfy on her couch while she got the Munchies ready. If it weren't for the fact that he's somehow managed to hide his left side along with most of his body and thereby keeping his metal arm from shining into the darkness of her room, she'd have easily been able to identify him from her bed.

As she approaches and her eyes get adjusted to the lack of light, she guesses that he must be in Soldier Mode, but then something about this time seems different. Ever since the first time she was around to see it happen, she's had the theory that Soldier Mode normally means that James is no longer in control, that he's letting the Soldier take control because James can't or doesn't want to handle a situation. She's noticed that whenever the Soldier is in control, their eyes dim to a cold abyss, like a cold glass has fallen between them and their ability to feel emotions, not even confusion. Yet, now, she can see emotion. No, this is not the Soldier. This is James with a faraway, terrorized echo in his eyes and a gun in his lap, just sitting there, His hair had been pulled back in an elastic, but sometime between then and now, pieces have fallen out in a harried way. A quick glance at his attire tells her he's still in his PJ's too.

Once she's right in front of him, she crouches down so that their eyes are at an equal level, but then she's lost. Maybe she could reach out a grounding hand…? No, that could be potentially disastrous. He could unintentionally perceive her outstretched limb as a threat and then she'd really be fucked. If she had her voice, she thinks maybe she could have said something good, something encouraging or calming. Something that might help bring him back to the Tower with her and away from the haunting images and memories he's enraptured by now. She can't. Sure, she could type something, but again, she'd be running into the whole outstretched limb being taken as a threat problem again. Maybe getting someone else? However, again, getting someone else could be bad too. Would they be able to help better than her? Maybe. Probably. Most likely. After all, they could talk about shit with him and take him on in a fight if he got potentially physical. Plus, they're teammates, even if he's more like a backup with Wanda, Pietro, and Sam than a full-fledged member like Steve. Even Tony could maybe do better than her, having such strong PTSD and the Iron Man suit, and a hidden, but definitely _there,_ empathetic side to him that had become prominent when he didn't let her cry alone when she broke down last week. Honestly, Darcy's got no idea why James even came to her place in the first place, any of the others would know what to do better than her, right?

However, he had come to her and that _had_ to mean something. Sure, it could be more the product of accidental wandering without seeing, but she's pretty sure that's not it. He must have had some idea of where he was going, even if it was just the slightest idea. Besides, he probably already knew all this. He chose her, and now she's going to do the friend thing and help him.

Okay. No talking and no touching. Hmm, what's left? Waiting. There's waiting and just being there with him. Sometimes just being there is just as good if not better than talking shit out. Sometimes people don't wanna talk and just want someone there, their mere presence saying "We don't have to talk, and that's fine. I'm here. I support you. You are not alone. I'm here for you." And she sure as fucking hell can do that like a pro. So she settles down on the floor in front of him and crosses her legs, his eyes watching her every move. She's still tired but staying up to be a comforting presence for a friend, it sure as hell is worth the few hours of sleep that she's sacrificing. She may be a bit grouchier tomorrow, but it will be worth it if it means James isn't alone right now.

After a while of just sitting in the dark together, Darcy figures maybe she could get Friday to put on a film or something for them, something good and easy. She turns on her mobile and texts Friday the request, making sure to keep her movements as non-threatening as possible by keeping her hands and her device close to her person in front of her so her ever watching companion doesn't accidentally think she's trying to hurt him.

Almost instantly after her text is sent, a reply lights up the screen. _The next episode of Phineas and Ferb has been queued up in your living room, Ms. Lewis. I have also taken the liberty of turning the volume down to 10% so as not to startle Mr. Barnes,_ it reads.

She quickly types out _thank you, Friday,_ before getting to her feet, making a point to be obvious about her actions. From hanging around Clint and Nat, she's learned that it's better to be obvious and even loud sometimes when moving around them because trying to be sneaky makes them think that the person has less than wholesome intents and causes them to react in turn. However, being loud and obvious means that you obviously want them to know of your presence, and therefore allows them to feel slightly more comfortable in your presence. She thinks the same tactic can probably apply pretty well to James too. At her standing, he does the same in a swift maneuver. Then she pads out of the room, letting her back be turned to him in the hopes that he takes the action as a show of trust. He hasn't acted out with any volatile intentions yet, so she'll give him the benefit of the doubt. Besides if he does end up doing something, there's really not a whole lot she could do, even with Nat's training. Behind her, she hears him make enough sound to let her know that he's followed her.

Instead of heading straight to her couch, she makes a stop in the kitchen. While she goes over to a drawer and gets out two spoons, just in case he wants some as well, he stands by her counter to watch, his gun now put away somewhere on his person. As she turns to move over to her freezer, she's met with his sudden appearance at her side, an empty hand outstretched slightly for the silverware. Holding in a squeak at his abrupt _thereness_ and trying to keep any fear off her face, she doesn't want him to think she's afraid of him because Darcy really hasn't been for ages, she hands him the spoons, which he accepts silently. Then she moves over to her freezer and digs out a partly eaten carton of Mediterranean salted caramel gelato. Yes, Ben and Jerry are ice cream gods and Darcy _will_ fight off anyone who disagrees, or maybe sick Thor on them while she eats some of the heavenly treat herself, but gelato is also another favorite chilled dessert of hers.

Gelato in hand, oh so gorgeous gelato, she shuffles over to her couch, brunette assassin and part-time Avenger following on her tail. Plopping down with all the grace of brick, Darcy cozies herself with her favorite fuzzy blanket, which she tends to keep on her couch for times like this, and then pats the empty space next to her on the couch, indicating that she wants him to sit down next to her if he wants to. He does some fancy spysassin flip over the couch and lands next to her with his legs all crossed like a pretzel. She pops off the lid of the gelato carton and, without further prompting, he hands over a spoon before sticking his own into the carton and pulling it out with a nice, proper bite of the treat. Then, he simply says "Okay, Friday," prompting the friendly, neighborhood A.I. to start up the show as he shoves the spoonful into his mouth.

She counts the time going by with episodes. After two episodes, the carton has been properly emptied, him having eaten more than her with his enhanced metabolism. After three episodes, his eyes have lost some of the shadows of pain passed. After four, his lips have curled the slightest fraction upwards at the antics displayed by the genius stepbrothers. After five, he's allowed himself to slouch into the couch. By the sixth episode, he's gathered some of her blanket over his legs.

And as the seventh adventure has rolled to a close, he speaks. His voice is raspy and quiet, but she can easily hear it over the show. "If these kids were real and much sassier, I'd swear they were Stark's kids or somethin', cause half the shit they've made are definitely something' I'm pretty sure he'd come up with if he hasn' already. And that Perry, how the hell do these writers come up with shit like this? He's fucking fantastic! Do ya think Stark could find one for me? Or maybe Natasha could…? She can get anythin'."

Hearing this, she chances a glance in his direction. He's serious. Like 1000% dead serious. He wants a platypus, more specifically Perry the Secret (but Not Really that Secret) Agent Platypus. Confident that he's not going to snap at an outstretched limb, she hastily digs out her mobile from the depths of her blanket and then types out a reply.

 _Dude, sorry to disappoint, but you do know any platypus you get won't be like Perry, right? He's one of a kind and also kind of just an awesomesauce cartoon_.

After reading her message, his lower lip juts out just the tiniest bit, but she notices. He also sags deeper into the cushions and crosses his arms over his chest. HOLY FUCKING MOTHER OF GOD SHIT! JAMES BUCHANAN BARNES, _THE_ WINTER SOLDIER FOR GOD'S SAKE IS POUTING, AND IT'S ABSOLUTELY FUCKING ADORABLE. LIKE, PUTTING PUPPIES TO SHAME ADORABLE! Crossing her fingers that he won't kill her later for this, she snaps a quick photo. For blackmail purposes. Not because of all the cuteness. Yeah. Blackmail.

"Yeah, I know, but I can dream, right?"

Okay, yep. At hearing this, Darcy loses it. A raucous chorus of howling, snorting laughter that would definitely not be appreciated in a public place. After a few minutes of wild chortling, full on body wracking guffaws, even James lets out a few chuckles himself, probably more amused with ungraceful laughs than actually understanding why she's laughing, but hey, Darcy Lewis has gotten the ex-cold, unfeeling Russian assassin to laugh. That's totally a win in her book.

The night may not have started out the best. Darcy may never find out why James snuck into her room and not someone else's. She may never learn what woke him up and the nightmares that enraptured him, and that's fine. This night may not have been the best night, or even a good night, but in her book, it ended pretty fantastically.


	10. Cheshire Cat Cafe

"Hello, Ms. Lewis and Mr. Jefferson, I'm Tierza Finch, and I'll be your instructor and guide as you learn and navigate American Sign Language. Now, before we begin, my information tells me that you are both beginners. Is that correct?"

They both nod in the affirmative. "Never done it before, to be completely honest, Ms. Finch," James adds. His eyes are a soft brown from special contacts and his hair is pulled back into a neat ponytail. A pair of plain black, semi-wide framed glasses adds even more to the simple disguise. Wearing a nice pair of dark jeans and a simple, gray button up, he looks a little less like James Buchanan, the Winter Soldier, decorated war veteran, and the oldest prisoner of war, and a little more like Max Jefferson, his cover story. As for Darcy, since she really hasn't been very active outside of the Tower in years and isn't really _that_ high on hydra's shit list, gray eyed contacts and her hair down in waves are the only things she's had to do. She's even been able to use her last name, making her Katerina "Kat" Lewis on the papers.

"Well then, we'll start with the basics and work our way up from there. Sound good to you?" Ms. Finch asks. Again, they nod.

Tierza looks to be about a few years older than James' outer appearance. She's got short, mouse colored hair with a few highlights, warm gray eyes, and a kind, patient smile. Thanks to the _very_ thorough background check both Tony and Nat had done before even setting up the first private lesson, Darcy also knows that the lady in front of her isn't and never was hydra (they didn't deserve the acknowledgement of capitalization in her head anymore and never should have in the first place.)

From there, they begin to learn the ASL alphabet. They're finally here! Finally learning after what seems like forever looking for a reputable school, then letting Nat and Tony and Friday comb through each potential employee's background thoroughly, and _then_ actually choosing a date and length (only about an hour and a half each time, twice a week), they're here! And it's awesomesauce! It's truly fucking amazing. Sure, it's totally the bare basics of the basics and slow-going, like what you'd teach a baby really, but she fucking loves it. She has fun while she starts to learn the barest bit of American Sign Language.

By the time the session end, she can safely sign the first half of the alphabet without help or even a prodding in the right direction, and she'd damn fucking proud of it. James, the unintentional show-off, has already figured out nearly the entire alphabet with only a few letters stumbled on. When she'd shot him a questioning, accusing stare, he'd shrugged and said that the serum, even his botched-up batch, had heightened and enhanced everything about him, which apparently included really boosting his ability to learn shit. After receiving homework for the next session in a couple days (pretty much just keep practicing and see if they can get the alphabet even better), they leave the building to start walking (something he'd actually suggested strangely enough. Something about being able to scope out the place and its surroundings on the way there and back) back to the Tower.

They walk in silence down the street with her on his left side, his less "strong" side when it comes to shooting (as if anything about him wasn't strong). As they walk, she watches the people goings by with a curious gaze while he watches them with a hesitant, calculating stare. About a little less than halfway between the Tower and the school, Darcy spots a tiny café that truly looks to be nothing more than a hole in the wall between bigger shops. When she sees it, she finds James' hand and gives it a squeeze. At his confused inspection of her person, she graces him with a small smile and tilts her head towards the fun little café sign, silently asking if he'd be alright going into the place or if he'd like to just keep walking. He spares a glimpse at the sign, its crooked letters in various shades of purple spelling out the title "Cheshire Cat Café" with a purple cat tale one on end and a wibbly, wobbly teacup and saucer with cat ears sticking out of it on the other. After a moment's deliberation, he looks back at her and nods.

Together, they enter the curious establishment.

What they find greatly amuses and confuses James, as far as she can tell from the small frown pulling at his lips and the crinkling of his brow, but it seriously fills Darcy with so much joy. The walls are old brick, smattered with holes and lined with various paintings and photos for sale, many of them sticking the Alice in Wonderland themed café name. Along one wall, a station for straws, napkins, and other such things, like a spot for placing dirty miss-matched dishes, sits proudly. On the opposite wall is the counter for people to order and for the baristas to make the various drinks and food. In the center of the long room runs an almost equally long table that has mismatched chairs of many different colors and patterns. Of course, in a few corners and nooks of the room sit couches and chairs that look well-loved and squishy and comfy as hell and about as uniquely mismatched but charming as the rest of the place.

It's not packed but still full with chairs and tables to spare. Perfect.

By the time they reach the counter to order, Darcy has already decided that she loves the place. In a display case off to the side, cakes and cookies have "eat me" iced on them in fun colored icing. A heart-shaped selection of cookies even says "very happy unbirthday" next to a sign that says "or" and points to a small cake, "very happy birthday" written in bright pastel blue. On the menus, even the names of the various selection of drinks fit the Wonderland theme. There's Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum Tea, Jabberwocky Java, Mad Hatter Hot Chocolate, Caterpillar Cappuccinos, Lory lattés, March Hare Macchiatos, Dodo Doppios, and even a few more specialty drinks.

After a moment's consideration, she types out her order on her Starkphone and hands it to the barista. _A 16-oz. Mad Hatter hot chocolate with whip and caramel drizzle, please,_ it reads.

The barista, a lovely person with spunky coils of black hair and a bright mauve lipped grin, nods. "Would you like that for here or to-go?" they ask. At the unexpected question, Darcy glances around to see the various patrons with mismatched, colorful, whimsically painted mugs and then at James. This was supposed to have only been a nice little stop for a drink, but at seeing the comfy, cozy atmosphere of the place, she kinda really wants to stay. After another little look at James' bewildered reaction to the café and reasoning that he's probably reached his limit of social interaction for now and is ready to go back to the Tower, she's about to answer that she'd like it to-go when James cuts in.

"For here," he says with confidence in a rough, gravelly voice. "Please" is added quickly to the end. Normally, Darcy wouldn't fly for someone answering for her, but in this situation, she doesn't mind since the ball had technically been in his court, being that it ultimately hung on how well he was coping with being around others.

Their barista smiles while Darcy holds back a gaping look of amazement. "Alright, love, will that be all?"

"No, actually, could I please get a 20-oz. of the sugariest hot drink you have?" James asks.

"That would be our caramel Jabberwocky Java with cream and caramel drizzle," the barista says.

"Sure, I'll take one of those," James says.

A jab of jealousy pokes Darcy. Sure, it took all of college and all the years leading up to that for her to finally, actually learn to love her body with all its quirks and rolls and squish and everything else that makes it unique, but still, it must be nice to have a super enhanced metabolism. Thanks to his super awesome metabolism, even with his _major_ sweet tooth, he can basically eat as much sugar and carbohydrates as he could damn well possibly want to eat and pretty much never gain weight in cellulite, especially if he keeps working out like he does.

She's brought back to the present by the sight of James reaching into his wallet to pay for their drinks. She grabs his hand, causing him to look at her with a questioning eye. She shakes her head and pulls out her own money instead. He nods and gives her room to pay for her own drink and nab her Starkphone back in the process before he pays for his beverage.

Once they've both paid for their drinks, they find a nice little nook in a spot where he has a good, unhindered sight to all the exits and isn't in a direct line of sight should someone less than friendly decide to appear and has a pair of pretty fantastic smooshy chairs to sit in. Sinking down into the cushioned chair, she lets out a very content and probably overly dramatic sigh, reveling in the comfiness. Next to her, she can see James is enjoying his chair's comfortable disposition as well, but with a much more hesitant, reserved acceptance. When they hear their drinks being called, they get up, grab their liquids, and then return right back to their spots to enjoy their spoils. Because they had decided to get their drinks "for here," their drinks are in ceramic mugs with fun, fantastical designs. Her mug is a violet purple, wide mug with little black top-hats and yellow bowties speckling the sides. His mug is a large, tall black mug with happy little gray and light blue whales, some with water sprouting out of their blowholes and some without, but all of them with happy little cartoonish smirks painted all over the exterior.

They sit there for a while, content to just sit and enjoy the atmosphere of the place. Darcy finds herself simply enjoying people watching and breathing in the unique decorations. There are a few others like them, just there and soaking up just being. However, the majority of the patrons have an electronic device or even two or more lit up and are staring at the technology intently. If Darcy had to guess, judging by the fact that the majority of those here have laptops of some brand or just have devices out and on, coupled with the general age of the customers being around the age of an average college student, and some people having multiple empty multi-colored mugs at their seat, she'd say that this place is a hotspot for college students to study and research and do papers at, as well as being just a fantastic place in general.

After a nice bit of time has passed, the overhead, soft-beating Alternative music filling what would've been complete silence between the two now-ASL students, James speaks, breaking her out of her people watching the various patrons, "You can laugh." It's a statement, but more than that, it's a question, almost an accusation.

At first, as she opens her notes on her Starkphone for a fresh page to type on, she thinks to answer with a joke. Something snarky, like "well, everyone can laugh, but that doesn't mean everyone does," but then she thinks no, she won't do that. Not to him. He doesn't deserve that. He deserves the truth straight from her and not from some second-hand, maybe half-assed maybe truth from someone else who knows the actual truth, like Clinton, or a best guess from someone who hasn't cared to look that hard into her past, like Steven, both of which he could get if she doesn't tell him herself.

Message typed out, she hands him her Starkphone and waits as he reads.

 _Yes, I can laugh. I can laugh and giggle and sigh and whistle and pretty much do any other sound a human can make. When I got hit by that wave of energy thing while holding that stupid stick thing back in London, it, well, it didn't damage my vocal chords. Those are just fine, honestly. It's all up there in my brain or something. I don't really know. Some call my brand of mute something known as Aphasia, but then others don't. No one's really agreed since my symptoms don't coincide perfectly enough with one or even two diagnoses. Basically, what I know and understand is that I can hear and understand words just fine, but the connection between my brain and mouth is broken or disconnected or something because I can't speak. I can't say words. I hear them and even think them just fine and dandy, but I just can't say them. It's kinda like how babies can hear and understand and probably even think fine, but they just can't get their mouths to form the words, except I'll never be able to learn, or even relearn as is my case like they can,"_ her message reads.

For a while, he doesn't speak, doesn't react at all. Not even a little hum of understanding escapes his mouth. And Darcy's not really sure what to think or feel. It's not like he or anyone else can change her situation really. She's already tried that and it didn't work. This is just how she is now. She's still Darcy, though. Sure, some parts aren't exactly whole and working and all there or even there at all, but at the core, she's still Darcy, just a little different. She's still Darcy at her center. Among everything that's changed, at least that hasn't, and she really hopes that that never does.

So why does she feel as though a heavy, crushing weight has been lifted off her shoulders when he just nods and says "okay?"

Because in mere months, James has quickly become one of Darcy Lewis' people.

Because as one of her people, she cares about his opinion, his view of her.

Hearing confirmation of his acceptance that she'll never be able to speak again feels _goddamn_ relieving. She's not broken, there's nothing to fix, that _can_ be fixed, but knowing he's alright with her never having an actual vocal voice, that he's not looking at her with pity or a losing hope that she can somehow be fixed, it just feels _so_ fucking good.

And in that moment, something kind of just clicks. Yes, he's already told her himself that their Thing has helped keep the bad shit away, but maybe that isn't everything.

He may not be a mute, if you can really call what she has that, and she may not be an ex-World War II veteran/POW taken by hydra/ex-Winter Soldier, but they're the same in a way that the others aren't, she thinks.

They don't have any expectation of the other.

She's not Steve, she never met the pre-hydra Bucky-now-James and doesn't expect any of his past personality to suddenly show up. She doesn't expect anything out of him other than whatever she'd already seen herself. He's not Jane, who still looks at her with a never-ending look of guilt, wishing that, even now after years, fucking _years_ , have passed, that she could reverse the damage she did and fix it, fix _Darcy_ like there's something wrong with her. He's not her old friends from before Thor's touchdown who she's lost pretty much all contact with and doesn't expect a snarky as hell comment to fall from her lips because he never knew her when she could speak with a voice. She's not Nat, who watches him with a hesitant, analyzing eye that's ready to take him out at any possible time because she remembers training with him when he was fully the Winter Soldier. He's not Clinton, who met a mouthy college student in the fuckmiddle of New Mexico and took her in like the annoying little sister he never got and became like the brother of a feather that she never knew she didn't want until she got him (like is there a retail store for siblings? A drop-off maybe?), but even now, though resigned to her silence, still looks at her with a sympathetic sadness behind all his jokes and various pranks. She's not Tony, who grew up hearing stories of James and the Howling Commandos from a father who never looked at his own son with half as much affection as he put into the stories he told, only to learn that the James in the stories is the one who was also forced to kill the very man who remembered him with such a fondness and looks at James like a puzzle, one that doesn't make sense but he still wants to figure out because maybe then things will _actually_ make sense again. He's not Thor, who dearly loves his little Lightning Sister who felled him with her lightning stick but still blames himself for allowing the fight, his fight, to deal such a swift, irreparable blow to her when she should never have been in the battle in the first place. She's not the Maximoff twins, who stare and watch him with such awed looks of fear and amazement hiding in their eyes whenever they see the man who used to be hydra's favorite puppet, the esteemed and deadly Winter Soldier. He's not Bruce, who fears being too close to anyone in fear of accidentally hurting them, especially humany, squishy Darcy, who he doubts could call for help or diffuse the situation because she doesn't have a voice. She's not Sam, who tries so fucking hard to be accepting of him but still watches him with the analytical eye of a therapist. Neither of them is Vision, who's just new to having a body and humany feelings in the first place and looks at both of them like they're anomalies to be studied and understood, even if it's just a quick glance every now and then.

They're different.

They're special because they don't and have never had any preconceived notions about what the other was like in the past.

Sure, she read about him in History class and heard all about him when she was told Steve was bringing him in, but she didn't _know_ him before actually meeting him. Sure, he'd heard about her when he was being introduced to everyone that lived full-time in the Tower and interacted with the Team on a regular enough basis to be considered part of the Avengers and Co.™ and Thor has most likely told him various tales of their hang times together, but he didn't _know_ her before meeting her. When James came down to the common room that night to watch the stars with her, neither one of them knew the other more than any hearsay they'd already been privy to, so they really didn't have any _real_ expectations of the other. Sure, they'd figured that they probably wouldn't be having huge amounts of conversations even if they got to know each other more since she knew he doesn't really talk all that much and he knew she couldn't speak verbally, but they didn't expect the other to be someone they weren't and never will be again.

They didn't and still don't terribly care about who they were in the past _nearly_ as much as they care about who they are _now_.

When they've finished their drinks, they only stay a few more minutes before leaving the café. Only a handful of moments into the remaining three minutes to the Tower, something quite unexpected happens. A hand, specifically one she knows is metal underneath the leather glove, finds hers and holds on. Cheeks warm and a smile tugging at her lips, she squeezes his hand, receiving a soft squeeze in return only a moment later. Neither one of them look dramatically down at their grasped hands, not needing to make a big deal of out it, but if she notices out of the corner of her eye the gentle upward curl of his lips, then that's no one's business but theirs.


End file.
